Ghost of a Chance (Banshee Creek Book 2) (39 page)

Her father looked confused.

Great, there had been no business trip. She'd fallen for a lie, one her father couldn't even bother to remember. She turned to Salvador, who was watching the proceedings with undisguised interest.

"Would you please excuse us?" she asked.

Salvador bowed and offered his arm to the pretty brunette. The woman aimed a confused look at Elizabeth's father, who motioned for her to follow Salvador. She took Salvador's arm and her hair bounced merrily as she walked away.
 

Elizabeth took the brunette's place on her father's arm and led him away from the party.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she snarled, a pleasant smile still affixed to her face.

"You can't tell Mary." His voice was calm, but a tinge of alarm haunted his eyes.

"Why shouldn't I tell Mom?" Her voice dripped scorn. "It's not the first time you've pulled this stunt."

"Our marriage wasn't Cole's business. It's not your business either, Elizabeth."
 

"You made it my business," she retorted, "when you started man-whoring in Banshee Creek." A pair of well-preserved dowagers turned to stare, and she dropped her voice to a hostile hiss. "You're not in the Caribbean, Dad. You're not in Luxembourg." She was shaking with suppressed rage. "You're practically next door."

"This," he said in a haughty tone, "was supposed to be a very exclusive party. I was told there would be no locals." He looked back at the group. "How the hell did you get in?" His gaze landed on Gabe, who'd emerged from his corporate confab and was now listening intently to Salvador. "Oh, Pizza Boy brought you. That explains it."

She glared at him, now in open contempt. The dowagers were staring now, but she didn't care.

"Well, Pizza Boy's come a long way," Jonathan Hunt continued, not at all bothered by his daughter's disapproval. He looked at the cidery building, as if assessing its collateral value.
 

"Don't," Elizabeth muttered angrily, "call him that."
 

Her father turned toward her, his face a mask of disdain. But he noticed the gossipy ladies behind her and forced a neutral expression on his face. "He really did a fantastic job," he continued. "No one thought this old place would ever amount to anything. It was worthless. Hell, they couldn't even sell it to the town."

She frowned. Her father's false flattery couldn't disguise his envy and jealousy.
 

"But Pizza Boy turned it all around," he continued, a tinge of bitterness in his voice. "And he'll likely make a pile of money doing it. Rumor is he's going to sell the cidery to a brewing conglomerate. That'll bring in a pretty penny."

Elizabeth's fingers tightened on her champagne glass. Gabe was selling the cidery? No, that couldn't be true.

But her father was never wrong about money gossip. Bankers seldom were.

"That's their business," he continued. "They develop a concept, set it up, and then, when it starts making money, they sell it to the highest bidder. It's a good strategy."

She felt like an idiot. She should have known. After all, that was what most of the L.A. tech people did with their business ideas. Indeed, it was what Michael, her ex-fiancé, had done with his baby, Zentaur.
 

So much for Gabe's talk about the cidery helping the town. A multinational corporation wouldn't care if Banshee Creek benefited from its investment. Her anger at Gabe's lies grew as her father babbled on, calculating IPO prices and investment banker fees.

"Cordy is really happy with her investment," her father continued.

The name shocked her out of her rage-induced fog and almost made her drop her glass. Cordy? Cordelia Hamm? Gabe was doing business with her father's old flame? With the woman for whom her father had left his family? But Gabe's investors weren't called Hamm. The name was Tremayne.

"Poor girl, her fourth husband left her that creaky albatross, and she had no idea what to do with it."

"Mr. Tremayne?"

Her father's face darkened. "Yes. One of the few men in this area rich enough to tempt Cordy." His voice dripped with bitterness, but Elizabeth was less than sympathetic. "He left her the cidery, and she wasn't happy about it. The stories about the place were a bit creepy. Good thing your delivery boy came to her rescue. She's building herself a new house in Barbados thanks to him. I should drop by. I haven't visited Cordy in ages."

True. He hadn't seen Cordy since his bank went bankrupt a decade ago. Cordelia Hamm had no interest in an impoverished paramour, and her father had crawled back to Banshee Creek, tail firmly placed between his legs.
 

Elizabeth opened her mouth to give her father a piece of her mind when she felt a strong arm wind around her waist.

"What a surprise, Mr. Hunt," she heard Gabe say. "I didn't expect to see you here." Elizabeth's father mouthed a greeting, then turned around and went off to recapture his date.

"Looks like I scared him away," Gabe said. "Salvador said that might be a good thing." He kissed her hair lightly. "Was it a good thing?"

Elizabeth stared at her father's back, wondering the same thing. Cole wouldn't have let Gabe interrupt. Cole wouldn't have cared about making a scene. He would have gone after their father and given him a good talking to.
 

"It was a good thing," she said, watching her father rejoin his girlfriend. A big fight would be useless. Jonathan Hunt didn't care about his wife or his family, and she couldn't change that.
 

A sudden chill in the air made her want to burrow into Gabe's embrace. But she resisted the urge.

"What's going on?" he asked, a note of concern in his voice. "How can I help?"

"I'm not sure you can help," she said, stepping out of his embrace. "Why didn't you tell me that you're planning to sell the cidery?"

He stiffened, a trace of wariness in his eyes. Her father had been right, curse him. "I'm not planning anything right now." He clearly chose his words with care. "It's a possible exit strategy, one of many, but we're not at that stage."

"Yet." Her monosyllabic response was rife with accusation.

He ran his hand through his hair. "We're not expecting a sale, Elizabeth. We're fully committed to this project
and
to the town."

For now, she thought sadly. But Cordy Hamm expected a big payout in the not-so-far future, and his job was to deliver that.

"I'd like to go home now." Yes, she wanted to get out of here, reach a safe place, and have a good, long, cry.
 

"Sure," he said. "But there's someone I want you to meet." He tried to lead her toward a group of people standing by the tent. A middle-aged platinum blonde wearing a St. John's jacket laughed loudly. The barking laugh was painfully familiar.
 

She snorted. "Your partner in the cidery? I already know Cordy Hamm, Gabe."

He looked confused.

"I guess her name is Tremayne now."
 

Enlightenment failed to dawn across his face. Oh, joy. She was going to have to explain the whole sordid story.
 

"My dad thought she would marry him at one point," she said, and his face cleared as he connected the dots.
 

"Elizabeth..." he started.

"I don't really know her," she continued. "Although Cole and I had a very uncomfortable breakfast with her once." The memory made her smile, a bittersweet expression, but a smile nonetheless. "Cole was in his
The X-Files
phase. He kept telling me to 'trust no one.' At the table he described the killer cockroaches episode scene by scene. I don't think Cordy finished her goat cheese omelet."

"I didn't know," Gabe said.

"Yes, I gathered that," she replied, a sharp edge to her voice. "You didn't bother doing much research, did you?"
 

"I researched the business aspects," he argued.

Of course he did. But there was more to life than "business aspects." The fact that Cordy Hamm had ended up owning a haunted cider mill gave her a small measure of satisfaction. If anyone deserved a good haunting, it was Cordy Hamm. But then again, there was the Barbados beach house. That wasn't so good.

And it was all thanks to Gabe.

"I just want to go home now," she said firmly.
 

Gabe nodded. The prospect of leaving the gathering didn't seem to bother him. Maybe he empathized with her position. Or maybe he was afraid she would join Cordy's group and start talking about coprophages, manure, and
The X-Files
. Hmm, that last thought almost made her reconsider staying.

"I have to say goodbye to a few of our guests." He scanned the crowd. "Don't move."

She didn't. She couldn't. She felt a creeping numbness crawl over her. She had a long day tomorrow and had a lot to think about. Should she tell her mom about her dad's new girlfriend? Would that send her mom back into depression? Should she keep quiet? How could she?

Well, at least she didn't have to decide now. She could go home, curl up in bed, watch a couple of
The X-Files
episodes, and cry her heart out.

C
HAPTER
F
ORTY
-F
OUR

W
HY
DID
it have to be green? Gabe wondered as he looked up at the mansard-roofed building that housed PRoVE's headquarters. The ghastly green paint was supposed to look distinctive, and it succeeded. But did they have to add purple-and-yellow trim? He'd given these guys a lot of money. They could've hired a decent decorator.

At least the building had been updated. As he climbed up to the porch, he noticed the windows were new, the siding was freshly painted, and the cedar shingles in the roof had been repaired. At least some of his money had been well spent. He pressed the doorbell, and it emitted a clear, ringing sound, no goofy theme songs, no ghostly creaks. Good. This appeared somewhat professional.

A voice rang out from within. "Door's open. Watch out for the tentacles."

He sighed. Emphasis on the
somewhat
.

He opened the door and stepped inside. Rubbery green tentacles draped the doorway. He grabbed a few and yanked them off the ceiling. They tumbled to the ground softly, like deflated balloons.

"What do you think you're doing?" Caine stalked toward him, waving a rubber tentacle in a vaguely threatening manner. "We just put those up."

"I'm redecorating," he replied, looking around the room.
 

He was pleasantly surprised. With dark gray walls, leather sofas, and a conference table with modern chairs, the space looked like a serious workplace. Maybe even a little hip. The walls were lined with electronic equipment and framed posters hung on the walls. Some of the frames held ornate diplomas. He looked a little closer. Okay, some of the diplomas were from Miskatonic University. Well, his guests probably wouldn't notice that detail.

"Why? The place looks great." Caine was carrying enough tentacles to put up a production of
Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea.

Gabe nodded. "It does look better than I expected." He kicked the tentacles toward Caine. "But we have to get busy. Get rid of the appendages and set up a laptop with a projector."
 

A gangly teenager with horn-rimmed spectacles ran to comply.

"What's wrong with the tentacles?" Caine complained. "This office space could use a little jazzing up."

"I think you've done enough jazzing up." Gabe looked straight into the biker's eyes. "Get the rest of the gang here. We're having a meeting in fifteen minutes."

Caine hesitated, but Gabe held his eyes. The biker broke contact and left the room, taking the tentacles with him. Gabe felt a tinge of remorse. Why was he being such an ass to Caine? He wasn't angry with his friend, he was angry with himself.

He sat at the head of the conference table and watched the spectacled boy fiddle with the cables nervously. Gabe winced when the laptop fell to the floor and gave silent thanks for tacky shag carpeting. He tapped his fingers on the table impatiently and fought the urge to grab the computer and set up the projector himself. That was how he was wired, to take charge personally. It was his nature to research every fact and double-check every detail. That was the first rule of business: No surprises.

But he'd gotten a big surprise this weekend. Huge.
 

How had he not known that the original owner of the cidery was the woman Elizabeth's dad had run off with? How could he have missed that?
 

He'd never forget Elizabeth's face. She hadn't fought, hadn't argued. She hadn't responded like the feisty Elizabeth he knew. She'd looked defeated, and he never wanted to see that look again.

But he was going to fix it. And there would be no unexpected surprises this time. He would plan every single step.
 

He took out his phone and dialed. Time to tie up some loose strings.

"Give me a break." Salvador's voice came through loud and clear. And clearly exasperated. "I'm not even in L.A. yet."

"But that's where you're headed, right?"

"Yes, I'm to try to sell your idea to the movie studios."

"There is no try, Salvador," Gabe stressed. He needed Salvador to succeed. The movie people were crucial to his new plan.

"Deep, Yoda, very deep. Don't worry. Your project is ridiculous, but I'll get it sold. Tell me, how did you get the alien princess to agree to it?"

"She hasn't agreed," Gabe admitted. "I haven't talked to her yet."
 

"Are you kidding me? She found out you're in cahoots with the woman who broke up her family, and you haven't talked to her about it?"

"
Almost
broke up her family. Almost."

"Whatever. It's the kind of thing women like to talk about."

"Since when are you an expert on what women talk about?"

"Unlike you, my friend, I speak the language of love. And trust me, you have to talk to her about this."

"I can't do that yet. I have to fix it first."
 

"Fix what? Wait, don't you have a big meeting today? With that Historical Prestidigitation Committee she's part of?"